


The Chungə Gambit

by hanktalkin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Drug Dealing, Extortion, F/M, Families of Choice, Female Jack Pattillo, Financial Issues, Fiona Is A Badass Entirely Off-Screen, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: Two households, both alike in dignityIn fair Los Santos, where we lay our scene
Relationships: Fiona Nova & Jack Pattillo & Matt Bragg, Gavin Free & Geoff Ramsey, Gavin Free/Fiona Nova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. The Prideful Immortality of Children in the Home

The apartment, ostensibly, was one room.

The other, crammed with a folding table, a refrigerator, and two air mattresses smushed together, still got cold in the desert nights, and Fiona cocooned herself more tightly in the blankets as the sun touched her face. But her arm had fallen asleep during the night, a fact she was now acutely aware of now that she had medium-rare brain functions.

“Myatt,” she said, tossing the lead-weighted arm onto the mound next to her.

Matt barely made a, “mrrg,” noise into the pillow.

“Matt,” she tried again. Still nothing. She put her cold feet on him.

That woke him with a shriek, and she rolled off her mattress with an uncontrolled laugh, escaping to the bathroom before he could lay into her. She brushed her teeth, and heard him still complaining while Jack creeped out of her own room to make a pot of coffee.

Her family was more than she deserved. Jack let them crash with her and found them jobs and showed Fiona pictures of cats she’d seen on Twitter. But Matt, even more than Jack, was her rock. Matt was big and cuddly and warm when she needed to sneak from her own mattress to leech heat off him. He didn’t let anything bother him, and usually that was exactly what she needed when everything seemed to in a constasnt state of going to shit. She honestly couldn’t remember a time without him, since before Jack picked them up, memories just sort of ran together a bit. But Matt was there through most of it. Matt was good.

Unfortunately Matt liked to leave empty milk cartons in the fridge and was also fucking the worst.

“Matt what the hell?” Fiona demanded, turning around to shake the half-gallon at him.

“What?” he said, having to crane his whole body around to see her in the cramped apartment.

“You drank all the milk!”

“I didn’t do that!” he said in classic Matt denial. He pointed at Jack. “Jack did!”

Jack raised her eyebrows over her coffee, then looked thoughtfully at Matt’s cereal. Again: the worst.

Breakfasts arguments couldn’t hold them forever though. Soon, Jack was grabbing her helmet, headed for the early morning races, and Matt and Fiona were left to collect their product and get back on the mean streets, the hot shimmer of Los Santos chasing away the last of the midnight chill.

* * *

“See ya, have a good day at work,” Geoff said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Gavin’s head.

Gavin pushed him away with an exaggerated _bleh_ noise, the laptop he used for at-home freelance work balanced on his knees as he said, “yeah, you too.”

“Don’t infect our smart house with any viruses,” Geoff warned as he slid one arm through his backpack strap.

“Just because you taped a camera outside the door doesn’t make it a smart-house,” Gavin pointed out.

“We’re starting out small. First the doors, then the fridge, soon with urinals that let you shoot targets while you piss. Way of the future Gav.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight Geoff on it. He tapped away on his computer while Geoff armed the locks, grabbed one of those keto shakes from the fridge, and disappeared out the front door with a wave.

Gavin watched him nonchalantly through the window, tapping random letters on the keyboard. He craned his neck dutifully; and as soon as the sight of that thinning black hair disappeared from view, he leapt to action. He powered off his computer, grabbed his hoodie, and was out the door.

Due to some careful orchestration, Geoff thought Gavin had spent the past few months doing contract work, staying at home and paying Geoff rent after the man had been nice enough to let him stay for free for so long. But Gavin had found something more fruitful than writing plugins for whoever posted a job listing: the time-honored tradition of pick pocketing.

Most pick pockets or muggers had to limit themselves: just grab whatever cash was inside and ditch the rest. But Gavin could do more. He ran credit card numbers, lifting decent sums before it attracted attention, funneling it up and out in small enough numbers that he could keep it up for ages. The grift was lucrative, and even with the amount he paid for living expenses, he was growing a decent pad of savings for a rainy day. Of course, he couldn’t tell Geoff any of this, not when he was supposedly out of the game.

He got home an hour before Geoff was expected to, and resumed his position on the couch. It was a routine they’d created: Geoff going off to do his business, and Gavin sneaking out like a teen past curfew.

But Geoff didn’t come home at six. Or at seven, or at eight. Gavin was pacing the floor by the time Geoff staggered in the font door, exhausted and filthy.

“Hell Geoffrey,” Gavin yelped as Geoff collapsed on the couch. Gavin immediately peered over him, and found him uninjured, if exhausted. “What happened?”

“Give me a minute,” Geoff said, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

That was one thing that made Geoff special—he never belittled Gavin. As much as Gavin had loved Burnie, and was grateful to him for picking him off the Austin streets all those years ago, he still never got out from the mold of the ‘clever little brother’. Maybe that just happens when you know someone from when they’re thirteen on up, but being constantly kept from the dirtier parts of the RoosterTeeth syndicate cut deep. That’s why, when in all the shuffling after Burnie’s death and he’d ended up sleeping on Geoff’s couch in Los Santos, he found his best friend in the world was the one who didn’t water it down for him.

After Geoff spent twenty minutes with his head on the back of the couch and his eyes closed, Gavin stopped fussing and got him a glass of water. Geoff drained it, and blinked at Gavin.

“I’m in the hole,” he told Gavin flatly. “I owe a lot of money to people I should’ve been smart enough not to owe a lot of money to.”

“Shit,” Gavin mumbled, sitting next to him. “That sounds bad.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you gunna do?”

Geoff rubbed his eyes again. “Pay it off I guess. Or find it and get it back.”

Gavin barely heard him though, mind racing. He had a decent amount of funds tucked away, funds he was happy to give Geoff. The only problem was…Geoff was going to want to know where it came from, and he’d be less than happy to find out Gavin had lied about going straight. Running a DIY identity theft business out of the apartment wasn’t in the roommate agreement. Plus…Geoff could get…Geoff-ish.

“Geoff…” Gavin started out nervously, but had to swallow before he could go further. Geoff waited, holding his empty water glass in loose fingers. “If it’s money trouble, I have some saved up.”

Geoff furrowed his brow. “I don’t think contract work is going to cover this one, Gav.”

“Er, that’s not…what it’s from.” Gavin fidgeted in his seat. It’s not like he was _never_ planning to tell Geoff, he was just…waiting until the right moment. Well, it sure did seem like now was the right moment. “I’ve been running credit card numbers again. I know! I know you said not to but now doesn’t it seem like a good thing-?”

“Fuck Gavin!” The change in Geoff was instant. “Are you insane? _Cards?_ ”

Gavin flinched. “I knew you’d be mad.”

Geoff was still going. “That’s not just a job you can rely on the useless-ass cops in this city to not give a shit about, that _crosses state lines, dumbass._ ”

“I know that!” Gavin said, tone now raising to match Geoff’s. “I’ve been careful!”

“It’s not about _careful_ Gavin! It’s noticeable no matter how careful you are.” Geoff got to his feet, throwing his hands up in the air. “Great. Fucking perfect. Now not only do I have these dickwads on me, I’ve got to worry about the Feds coming for your ass and _you know they will_ it’s just a matter of time.”

Geoff started to pace.

“Geoff-” Gavin pleaded before Geoff cut him off.

“Not now Gavin,” he stewed. “I’m…I’m just going to bed.”

Gavin wasn’t sure whether to be defensive or apologetic, but his time to decide vanished as Geoff made his way into the bedroom. Gavin sighed, wondering if there was any way to make this better.

* * *

Fiona preferred working with Matt when she could. He was intimidating if you didn’t know him, and as long as he kept to as few words as possible, he could maintain that image even to the more sinister clients. It was nice to have him stand behind her during important deals so she could do all the talking. He was too soft though: let one grubby high school kid get away with a free sample and soon everyone thought they can walk all over you. Which they could. But it was bad for business for people to know that, so Matt was left to keep a constantly rotating customer base, which Jack painstakingly managed.

Fiona had the opposite problem. People never took her seriously, and even though she could kick anyone’s ass (and would!) her stature and voice didn’t exactly cut image of the hardened drug dealer that was the practical poster child of Los Santos. That was fine though. It wasn’t like a pair of pot dealers were expected to be the cream of the badass crop.

Speaking of dealers. On the way to meet up with Matt, her day done and a few hundred bucks heavier in her pocket, she heard the sound of sirens spilling onto the street. Instinctively, she slipped behind a dumpster, waiting for the cars to pass. But, instead of the expected slow incline of the police’s whine, no sooner had she pressed herself against the cinderblock wall than a man came sprinting around the corner.

He had a mustache and weathered graphic tee, and after a moment, Fiona realized she recognized him. She’d seen Jack get into a shouting match with a few times, probably one of her suppliers. The name ‘Ramsey’ came to her as she watched him from her hiding spot.

He looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in ages, bags under his eyes and hair in need of a shower. The wail in the alley grew louder, and Ramsey looked behind him before swinging something off his shoulder. Fiona couldn’t see what it was before Ramsey covered it with some trash, glancing to the street all the while. It only took a few seconds before he stood, sprinting off along his course.

Fiona made a _huh_ face to herself before slipping from the dumpster.

Disturbing the trash pile, she found a lumpy black backpack, the only descriptor a small green logo of a star. She examined it for a second, mulling over the possibilities.

There was no doubt it was supplies, though maybe not a lot determining by its weight. Ramsey was as good as gone with the sound of those sirens, and even if he weren’t, there was no way he could trace this back to her. What did she have to lose?

A smile split her face at her luck. Still, she didn’t feel safe checking how much pot was actually _in_ the bag while still sitting in the middle of a dirty side-street, and vowed to show it to Matt as soon as they got home.

“How’d you do?” Matt asked her when they met up near the RON.

It was a bad idea to flaunt your score after stealing someone else’s stash, so instead, Fiona waved around a few bucks she’d garnered from the day’s activities.

Matt’s face lit up, probably because there was another six weeks worth of P. Terry’s in her one hand alone. He looked about to say something, before being interrupted by a cough. It was his usual one, deep and familiar, and it didn’t bother Fiona because only people who coughed faintly with a handkerchief pressed to their mouth were about to die. She kept walking, and would have gotten all the way inside to buy a slushie when suddenly another, more horrendous, cough followed.

She whipped around just as it turned a full on bout, Matt leaning over while his ratty brown jacket streamed out onto sidewalk. The pavement had turned wet during the day, and by the time she reached him, he had one knee in a puddle.

“What the fuck!” was all she could muster out, her hand on his back not seeming to do a damn thing as she gave him some sharp pats. “Are you ok?”

Matt tried to say something again but couldn’t manage. He shook his head, his hair whipping around and getting stuck in his mouth.

The panic in her spiked, and immediately her mind went blank. They needed help, and Fiona’s first instinct was to call Jack, because Jack always knew what to do. But it was barely six, Jack wouldn’t pick up her phone in the middle of a race and now Fiona had to help Matt to lay down on his side in the middle of the gas station lot.

Her mind raced, and she told Matt feebly, “hold on, just try to relax.”

Who else could she call? Who else had a car-?

Her mind leapt back into focus. She reached into her back pocket and scrolled to her contacts.

* * *

Gavin was opening the door, bag of groceries balanced one hip, when a strong hand grabbed him and slammed him against the wall.

The bag landed on the ground with a wet SMACK as a dozen egg cracked inside. Gavin blinked up in terror at the meaty hand that was attached to an even meatier man who was now holding him by the throat.

Instantly, he berated himself for not checking both ways down the street before opening the door, so distracted with the groceries and last night’s argument. Instantly, his mind went over the action plan he and Geoff created for something just like this, and his eyes flicking upward to the small camera above the door.

That all went out the window when the man holding him said, “let’s see if you’re more cooperative than Ramsey.”

Gavin’s blood ran cold. He managed to say, “I’m not known to be,” despite the terror gripping him.

The man punched him across the face. “Ramsey lost some product of ours. If you don’t get it back to us, you’re going to wind up in the bottom of the Storm Drain. That clear enough for you, or you got something else clever to say?”

Gavin did not have something else clever to say. All he could think was that these people had Geoff and he could be dead or worse and the last thing they’d ever said to one another had been a huge fight.

Gavin swallowed. “Look, I have some money, whatever drugs he lost I can just cover it. How much were they worth?”

The man sneered, looking Gavin over and the dingy home behind him. Then he told him. If there was any warmth left in Gavin’s body at all, it evaporated in that moment.

“ _Capicse_?” the massive man said. “Either get it back, or you’ll get a firsthand tour of what your roomie’s going through.”

Feeling the words sticking in his throat, Gavin said, “is Geoff…still alive?”

The sneer turned into a full on smile. He gripped Gavin’s chin, and tilted it to the side. “Would that be…motivating for you?”

Gavin managed to nod.

“Then he is. For now.” He let Gavin go, who struggled to remain on his feet after being punched so hard his head had left a small bloodstain on the brick. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain that further.”

The man left instructions on where to bring the drugs, and the barest shreds of a lead Geoff had given them before apparently, “needing a nap.” The words made Gavin shiver.

He also gave Gavin a deadline.

So that’s how Gavin finally made it into the apartment; dragging a brown paper bag leaking egg yolk, and breaking down on the couch in a sob.

* * *

“Yo is he OK?” Alfredo asked, hanging out the driver’s seat as Fiona hauled Matt into the back.

“Uh, no.” She didn’t have time to lay into him for that when Matt was literally dying. All she could think about was that if Matt beefed: that was it, world down the toilet. Matt was almost her everything and he was also Jack’s almost everything and this could _not_ be real. “Drive. Hospital. Now.”

They made it in eleven minutes. Alfredo stayed with her afterwards, thankfully, but fell asleep in a plastic-lined waiting chair within a half an hour of sitting down. So she was just left alone, for hours, pacing in the waiting room. It was night and she knew Jack was on her way, and when the biker finally stepped in through the double door she just about wept in relief. Instead, she settled for throwing herself into a hug, squeezing the damp leather jacket like she could burrow into it and make the world go away.

Jack squeezed her back, rocking her for a moment before getting a look at her. “Do they know what it is?

Fiona shook her head. “I mean. Maybe they do, but they won’t tell me.” She bit her lip, a nervous sort of shame that felt so disconnected from the gravity of the moment. “I mean, we’re not _really_ related…”

Jack’s brow furrowed in pity, but also in a way that made it clear that was hardly a worthwhile confession. “I’ll talk with the doctors. If he’s awake, maybe he can clear it up.”

Somehow waiting for Jack to come back from the nurse’s station was worse than waiting the first time. By the time she returned, Fiona had folded herself into a little ball next to the snoring Alfredo, leaving her fingernails bitten to the core. She popped up instantly, attuned to the look of worry across Jack’s face, and practically sprinted the length of the room to the stink-eye of the receptionist.

“Is he-”

“He’s okay for right now,” Jack assured her. Her face said otherwise.

“But…?” Fiona led, stepping sideways to follow Jack’s averted gaze.

Jack let out a deep cascade of pent-up air. “But the room is already running up a bill. He’s got some sort of lung complication, one that’s just been exacerbated by going untreated for so long. He’s going to need surgery.”

The blood rushed out of Fiona’s face. Jack struggled to keep both of them supported, even with cramming three people to a one-bedroom apartment: she didn’t have that kind of money. And Fiona could bring in a decent amount on a lucky day, but even with how much she avoided hospitals she still knew that surgery was _expensive_.

“When you say _need_ , does that mean…?” She found she couldn’t finish the thought aloud.

The helpless look Jack gave her meant that it was, and she didn’t want finish it either.

“Oh shit. Oh _shit_.” Wherever the blood had gone, it all came rushing back, and the confined little room with its slowly spinning fans was just too damn warm. “I need…I need to go sit in the car.”

Jack nodded in understanding, but Fiona was already swiping the keys off Alfredo’s unconscious body and dashing to the parking lot. Within seconds of leaving, she shoved herself into the backseat of the beaten down Acura and screamed.

She screamed for a good minute, face pressed into her hands as she tried to let all the uncertainty out. It felt like the whole world had been turned over, one moment looking on the ups and then suddenly Matt was going to die and she couldn’t do a damn thing. She reached to pull her knees up to her chest again, when her foot bumped against something. She blinked, and looked down.

It was the backpack. Still and nondescript as ever, but her heart jumped. Maybe this was just the score she needed, a thought that ignored her previous assessment of the bag’s lightness. Still, in her borderline panic, it seemed like her only hope. She unzipped the backpack in a fury.

“Oh,” she said as she looked at the contents emptied on the back seat. “Holy fuck.”


	2. Every Cozy Stranger and Every Awkward Friend

There were three of them. Three. Fiona didn’t know the exact market value of a brick of heroin right now but there was now a small fortune sitting in the middle of Jack’s living room. She’d skedattled from the hospital as soon as she’d realized, and proceeded to have her crisis in a place that wouldn’t make her best friend an accessory to larceny.

There was definitely enough to cover whatever Matt had, but that wasn’t the problem: it was selling this much product, and fast. The longer it stayed with her the more likely someone would come looking for it, and a trail was always harder to trace the faster it changed hands. She knew she could ask Jack but…Something like this—selling fast and taking risks—was bound to come back to their small time operation at some point. No, she wouldn’t do that to Jack, she wouldn’t leave Matt all alone when she eventually wound up in prison. Sitting there, the tightly packed bricks watching her atop her mattress with an air of curious judgment, she knew what she had to do. She would get the money, she would take the fall. She was on her own.

She brought out her phone and gaped at it blankly for a few minutes, staring at the long list of people she could in no way trust with something like this. So engrossed was she, she didn’t look up until the quiet room was punctuated by the sound of a gun cocking.

With a jolt, she looked up, her eyes coming to meet those of the skinny man now standing in her apartment.

“Don’t move,” he said, even as her jaw blatantly defied that by swinging open. “I just need it back, and then I’ll go.”

He was young, with a tanned, handsome face, and after the initial shock of seeing some stranger in her apartment she could tell he was shaking. The grip, the way he held himself, it all rang of a person who had never held a gun in his life.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” she asked, curling instinctively over the bounty in front of her, like she could keep it from him with her body alone. Instantly, she berated herself for it. Like a sixty-five kilos of fleshmeat were going to stop this guy.

He smiled grimly, like he was remembering some joke that wasn’t quite funny anymore. “Digital locks are a lot less safe than you think.”

Her eyes flicked behind him, the front door the barest bit ajar, the light from the hall seeping through. The alarm in her throat leaped a bit higher, and she fixed her sight back on him.

“Don’t make this a problem Pattillo,” he said, taking one ginger step towards her. “Just give it here.”

Fiona blinked, not understanding what he was talking about. But then her eyes narrowed; he thought she was Jack! He was connected to Ramsey somehow and he thought _she_ was the one who’d fucked up. That was the last fucking straw; she did not just go through the worst day of her life to be threatened in her own home by some green little _asshole_ who hadn’t even done his _damn_ research.

“No,” she said, in a voice that probably just signed her death warrant, but honestly couldn’t care.

The man faltered. Improvising didn’t seem to be his strong suit. “No?”

“ _No_ , jackhole,” Fiona demanded because she was _tired_. She was tired of being underestimated, of being pushed around. And she would not be bullied by this fucker while Matt’s life was on the line. “I need this shit.”

“Well get a hit somewhere else Pattillo, because-”

“And I’m not Jack!” she cut in, knowing she was starting to go hysterical. She wobbled to her feet, more difficult on an air mattress than you would think, and pointed her finger at the man with the gun. “My friend is sick and this shit is going to pay for it and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.”

If he were closer, maybe she could do that cool thing in movies where she smacked the gun out of his hand and kicked him in the shins or something. But as it was, she just stared down the barrel of a dealer’s piece because she had dared to tell some fucker _no_ for once in her life.

The man hesitated. “You’re…not her?”

“No,” she said. “My name’s Fiona and if you try to take this from me I’m going to fucking kill you.”

His face wobbled. That was the only way to describe it as a series of emotions played in a reel over his features. But then, amazingly, he lowered his gun, and gave a pitying look.

“I’m sorry Fiona,” he said, and she was so shocked she almost missed the rest of his sentance. “I’m sorry your friend’s in trouble. But mine is too.”

She opened her mouth a few times, eyes still trained on the gun, not clear on if she was being threatened anymore. “…What does that have to do with the heroin?”

The man looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“…Be my guest.”

He sat, shakily putting away his gun. Even she could tell him that was a mistake, but he didn’t seem to care. “I’m Gavin, by the way. Geoff’s roommate.”

Fiona got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “…You said you had a friend in trouble…?”

Gavin let the words hang in the room for a minute. “Yeah.”

“Shit. Sorry.” It felt weird standing while Gavin was sitting on the floor, but it also felt weird talking casually to someone who’d been pointing a gun at her a minute ago.

“He was supposed to be selling product for these guys, I don’t know who, they won’t tell me their names,” Gavin explained. “But he had to ditch it when he got heat on him. I figured Pattillo was involved, I know she and Geoff were fighting recently, so I came here and checked on the building security cameras…”

Gavin’s shoulders dropped, and he buried his head in his hands. Somewhere in the back of Fiona’s mind she realized this was the perfect time to jump him, but something about the pathetic way he slumped over himself kept her from it. She wanted to hear him out.

“They took him,” Gavin finished after a minute. “I have to get that back to them tomorrow or…” He waved his hands in exasperation. “So you get it? I need that stuff back.”

“Hey!” she barked. “You don’t get to come in here, drop a sad fucking story on me and then take all my shit.”

Her heart was thumping at the prospect of handing over her one shot so quickly, not when the surge of hope was the only thing that had kept her out of a spiral. Sure _maybe_ it was a little her fault at what happened to Ramsey, but she couldn’t let that influence her.

“Look I said I was sorry!” Gavin tucked his hands under his armpits. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

At that, Fiona’s shoulders sagged. Her mind began to turn, that little twinge of guilt stirring in her, and after a moment, she sat down next to him.

“Maybe…” she began, and Gavin lifted his head. She took a steadying breath, and collected her thoughts. “Maybe my thing and your thing don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

Gavin’s brows knitted together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Neither of us really wants this stuff,” she said, and indicated the bricks, still sitting in their paper like particularly troublesome Christmas presents. “What I want is to pay for my friend’s surgery, and you want Ramsey back. That’s not the same as actually _needing_ the drugs.”

“I don’t follow,” he said, watching her.

“Okay, it’s like this: the actual best way to get him out is to kill the kidnappers.”

“Are you crazy?” he sat bolt upright. “I can’t do that! I don’t…” He waved an exasperated hand in the general direction of his gun. “I couldn’t.”

“Think about it: there’s no guarantee that they’ll actually hold up their end if you give the heroin back. What’s to say they won’t kill him to make an example for screwing up in the first place? The high rolling guys tend not to be very forgiving.”

Gavin closed his eyes, like he was trying not to think about it. Or, like he had thought about it, and was trying not to let it affect him.

“But we can work together.” Her words came out all jumbled, putting together the plan even as she was saying it. “I’ll help you break Ramsey out, kill the guys who’ve been bothering you, and you help me sell this stuff safely without any attention. I know you did some hacker shit to get in here: if anyone can help me out it’s you.”

Gavin’s eyes blinked open. “…Could we really do that? Just the two of us against whoever?”

She steadied. She needed to convince herself just as much as him, so she let out a long breath through her teeth before continuing, “the thing is: they underestimate people like us. It sucks, but that’s our one advantage. If we do this, get a bit of luck, they won’t know what hit them.” It was risky as all hell, but shit, she’d already decided to put it all on the line the minute she opened that backpack. She put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the agitated warmth of it through his shirt.

He watched her with glistening eyes, a soft, emerald green. Ones that were choosing whether to trust her or not. After nearly two minutes of silence, he put his hand over hers.

“Alright. Lets do this. Absolute balls to the wall.”

She smiled. “You got that right.”

* * *

Gavin shifted from one foot to another, his white sneakers making an ungodly squeaking noise on the floor. The warehouse looked deserted, but that couldn’t fool him, not when the instructions had been so specific on where to find this place. Fiona was right: it was their main base of operations. They didn’t even think he was enough of a threat to bring him to an unconnected drop site.

Hopefully that was enough. Hopefully Geoff was here and still alive and not heavily guarded and-

Okay, calm. That’s what Gavin needed to be right now: calm. He had put all his faith in a pretty girl who talked like she could tear the whole world apart with her bare hands and now he had to live with that decision.

It turned out he only had to be calm a moment longer, since just then Meaty Guy and two others emerged up a flight of stairs and slunk in front of Gavin. Maybe it was fine that he was nervous: jumping at every noise was how they expected some scared kid to act. And he was scared, just not for the reason they thought.

He tired to pay attention through the whole intimidation song and dance, but he honestly couldn’t focus. As he slid the backpack across the floor to him, his heart raced as he thought about Fiona. What if she had gotten scared and ditched? He was unarmed and at the mercy off the deal, and she had no skin in the game if he was being honest. What was he thinking? How could he have trusted some woman he’d met last night?

The rival crew was dismissing him. The realization knocked him back into the present, and he sputtered out, “what about Geoff?”

Their leader smiled. “Run home kid. You’re done here.”

There it was, that small dismissive sneer to his voice. And Gavin may been forsaken, but in that moment, when everything was on the line, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where’s Geoff?” he repeated, the thumping of his heart stilling for the fist time in two days.

The smile slid off the leader’s face. “That was your once chance, kid.”

And then he drew his gun, and three things happened at once.

* * *

“Here,” he said, slipping her his pistol. “You don’t look like you got one.”

She glanced down at the gun now nestled in her hands. Damn. Without Ramsey, this guy wouldn’t have lasted a day. They were on the living room floor, papers spread out in an array as they planned their next move. Gavin had brought in his laptop, and they coated the floor in maps and police reports, trying to figure where in the building the gang might be holding Ramsey. She had to admit: Gavin was good. It had been a quick character judgment to peg him for a techie, but when he wasn’t freaking out he was surprisingly thorough.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, weighing the pistol’s heft.

He shrugged. “It’s Geoff’s anyway. Wouldn’t be much use with me, I’ve never…” He made a casual motion with the hand not on the mouse.

“Yeah, I guessed.”

After a second of silence while the laptop fans whirled, he asked, “have you ever? Killed someone before.”

“No, but there’s always a start.” Honestly, the thought didn’t bother her all that much. Not even the threat of dying seemed _real_ now that her home invader was casually sitting across from her and drinking tea out of one of Matt’s mugs. The only fear she still had was now more abstract: the thought that if she, Gavin, or Ramsey died, this whole alliance would fall through. Sure maybe she could go find someone with fewer strings attached for this kind of help, but a combination of guilt, a ticking clock, and just plain unrecognized coincidence kept her focused on this. It wasn’t her only shot, but it was the right one to take.

She looked at Gavin again. He was concentrating, and he was actually kind of cute with his brows scrunched together like that. Jack hadn’t come from the hospital yet, so Fiona hadn’t had to stuff Gavin under the bed or anything, but at the edges of that relief was a tinge of dissapointment. A small part of her wanted Jack to come back, look at the mess she’d gotten herself into and say, “Fiona come on. This is to much. Let me take this off you.” To be hugged and told everything would be alright. But she didn’t let that thought rest. It reminded her that Gavin didn’t have that luxury.

A text tone shook them both out of their thoughts, and Gavin picked up his iPhone. It couldn’t be good by the way his eyes scrunched, and Fiona tried not to look like she was staring as he crafted his response. By the time he was done, he tossed his phone aside in exhaustion and collapsed on Fiona’s bed.

“Nrrrrr,” he complained, throwing his arms over his face.

“Not good?” she said, sliding up next to him.

“No,” he muttered through his elbows. “That was Caleb. Geoff was supposed to meet them for dinner and they want to know if he’s alright.”

“Damn.” Fiona was quiet for a moment, but when it was clear Gavin wasn’t getting back up, she laid her head next to him on the pillow. “…We’re going to get him back, Gavin.”

He stilled, and then cautiously peeked out at her. “That a promise?”

Guilt, timing, coincidence, and now a little of something else. She held his eyes and said, “I promise.”

* * *

One, Gavin felt the world go into slow motion, the sluggish draw of the pistol ticking something in his brain that told him he needed to move, _now_. Two, the door the men had emerged from slammed open, thrown against the wall with such force that the handle gave a metallic _snap_ , denting the sheeting behind it. And three, Fiona burst from the staircase, covered in blood, and shot a man in the head.

The sound was just enough to kick Gavin back into real time, and while the remaining two turned their heads, he threw himself behind a storage container.

Fiona dodged behind her own cover, calling out “Gavin!” as she slid another gun across the warehouse floor. He snatched it with fumbling hands, overcoming the shaking as the sound of the gunshot still made his head ring.

There was a flurry of motion behind Fiona, and then Geoff ( _Geoff!_ ) came storming upwards, gun blazing as he unloaded several rounds into the next nearest henchman. The leader now had a lock on the actual threat, and turned, raising the shot that was meant for Gavin at the exposed Ramsey.

Gavin blew the leader’s fucking brains out.

The sound that answered was a resounding silence, and Gavin dropped his arms, unable to believe he had just done _that_. No sooner had the echoes faded than Geoff ran to him, grabbing him by the face and patting him over.

“Shit Gavin did they hurt you?” he demanded, and his voice was so broken all Gavin could do was shake his head. “They said they were going to- oh fuck.” And then he pulled Gavin into a vice-like hug.

In acutality, Gavin wanted to hold Geoff and demand if _he_ was alright. The right half of his face was a motley of bruises, and his eye was stuck closed or gone completely. The sight of him, and the horrid way he’d limped over, made Gavin burst into tears for the second time in twenty-four hours.

He clung to Geoff for what felt like hours. Eventually, he heard Fiona walk over, and sit down next to them.

“That was fucking insane,” she noted.

Geoff looked sideqays at her, focusing on her face for the first time. “…You’re Pattillo’s kid, right?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Gavin wondered if they actually got acquainted while she rescuing himand apparently slaughtering a whole bunch of people.

“It was Fiona’s idea to break you out,” Gavin explained. “Although, it was her fault for taking the bag in the first place.”

“Gavin!” she yelled indignantly.

“What?” he asked. “You can still have it. Deal’s a deal.”

Geoff narrowed his eyes. “You promised her _heroin_ in exchange for a rescue mission?”

“It’s for her dying brother!” Gavin rebuffed. When Geoff was still glaring at him, he said, more cautiously, “she _did_ save your life, Geoff.”

Geoff bit his lip for a moment, but Gavin fixed him with pleading eyes, and eventually his shoulders dropped. “Fine, she can have the bag. Shit was more trouble than it was worth, anyway.”

Gavin perked, and he was just so damn glad to see Geoff again he hugged him a second time. There was a muffled _yeah yeah_ into Gavin’s shoulder, but he allowed it. He even allowed when Fiona came over and hugged them both, the three now sitting on the warehouse floor as they caught their breath.


End file.
